Bring Me That Horizon
by DeliriumCanidae
Summary: He was too young, too inexperienced, too much of a child, to be thrust into this world of killers. He just wanted to get his brother back and go back home. He just…didn't think the trip would be quite as long as it turned out to be. He wasn't expecting there to be quite so many detours. [OC Centric, AC4 Era.]
1. Prologue

**Notes:** So, once upon a time, I discovered Assassin's Creed, and I was like 'hey, that's pretty cool.' And then I discovered Assassin's Creed II and Ezio and I was like 'oh my god what is this strange feeling? oh it's just the growing seeds of obsession,' and I have been hooked since then. Like many obsessed fans, I made my own characters. I planned to roleplay them, but that never panned out, so instead I decided I would just write out their stories. And so, this happened.  
If things don't entirely make sense timeline-wise, I _am_ writing this out of order. Siobhan has already been two other ancestors. And their stories frequently cross with the stories of Richard-and-ancestors and Lani-and-ancestors. I'll be writing those…eventually.  
TL;DR: I get bored and class, and scribble fanfic in my notebook. It's a problem. Eventually there will be pirates, I promise. I have the next (much, much, _much_ longer) part written already, and it will be posted once I proofread it. Also, this is being cross-posted to my tumblr, deleriusramblings.  
**Rating:** For this chapter, G. As a whole, PG-13  
**Word count:** 351  
**Obligatory disclaimer:** I don't own Assassin's Creed. I am not affiliated with Ubisoft. I'm just a fan. However, I do own all of the characters in this story. They are my creations, based upon the world of Assassin's Creed.

* * *

"I still don't get the obsession." Siobhan scrubbed his glasses on his shirt, before he shoved them back up the bridge of his nose. "I mean, it's one little shard. It can only be used on one person at a time." He didn't sound angry, so much as resignedly perplexed. "It doesn't seem like something that should be a priority." He dropped himself down onto the slab bed that was the Animus, swung his legs up, and laid back.

"You really wanna question it?" Lani's voice drifted over from the doorway. "You should be well acquainted with all the perfectionism by now. Questioning it just breeds problems. Speaking of…" Her voice lilted with amusement towards the end, and grew more distant as she leaned out of the door to call, "Someone have a guidebook on hand! We know Siobhan's luck!"

"Oh, come on," he protested, as scattered laughter filtered down the hall. "Once. It happened _once_. Benigno was perfectly helpful." His tone drifted with distraction as the technician snatched his glasses and replaced them with blackout goggles.

"That's still a fifty percent failure rate," Lani drawled, followed by a burst of high pitched cackling as Siobhan lifted one hand and flipped her off.

He couldn't see Malcolm's expression, but having known the technician for years, Siobhan could easily imagine the stormy glower. He considered the snappish, "If you're quite finished, could you remove yourself? I'd like to get started before Siobhan himself is an ancestor," to be proof.

Lani's laughter and her footsteps trailed out the door, only to be abruptly muted as the door slammed. Malcolm muttered a dour, "Doesn't she have a mission to do?"

"I do," Siobhan answered pointedly, followed by an even more pointed, "_Ow_," as the needle was inserted into the crook of his elbow with more force than was strictly necessary.

"Ready when you are," Malcolm replied, words sickly sweet.

Siobhan rolled his eyes behind the goggles, but offered a thumbs-up regardless. The Animus hummed to life a moment later, and with a flicker the goggles plunged him into a glowing miasma of fragmented whiteness.


	2. Chapter One

_Chapter Rating: Pg-13__  
__Specific Warnings: Cussing. Incredibly brief violence. Incredibly vague allusions to sex.__  
__Word count: This chapter, 6893. In total, 7244.__  
__Notes: Been workin' on this for a few weeks now! I'm still raring to go to keep working on it, so hopefully this won't succumb to the same fate as most of my other fanfics, which die half-written.__  
__Also, I speak English, and very amateur-ish Italian. I don't speak French. All of the French in this chapter is from Google Translate. Feel free to correct me.__  
__Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed, and I am not affiliated with Ubisoft. This is written purely for my own entertainment. However, I do own all of the characters in this fic._

_"Deep breaths, Bonnie." Malcolm's voice was lower, now. Soothing. "Been a while since you last went under."_

_ Siobhan breathed in, and exhaled slowly, and then the world was born around him._

* * *

"CIAN!"

He jolted awake, hay flying in all directions as his arms flailed. He stared up in befuddlement when he found himself nose-to-nose with a mildly concerned sheep. Cian blinked at the sheep for a second, and then leaned up to bonk his forehead against the sheep's nose, sending the ewe scampering.

"CIIIIAAAAN!"

He heaved a sigh, rolled out of the hay, and clambered to his feet, brushing himself off as he did."

"WHAT, MA?" he hollered back.

"Stop _yellin',_" Niall groused sleepily from the other side of the hay, as he hauled himself slowly to his feet.

Heedless of Niall's complaint, Brigh called back, "GET OFF YOUR SLEEPY ASS AND BRING THOSE SHEEP BACK!"

Oh. Right. Sheep. Cian looked around swiftly, to find some of the sheep wandering towards the edge of the field. He blew out a blustery sigh and swatted Niall's arm.

"Let's go."

"She told_ you_ to bring them back, not _us_," Niall pointed out, even as he picked up a stick.

"Can't hear you!" His own stick in hand, Cian bounded off for the other side of the field, Niall loping at his heels.

_"I'm like twelve, Mal."_

_ "Fifteen, actually."_

_ "Then isn't this a bit early for our needs?"_

_ "We don't _know_ when we need to be. He's not exactly in the history books. Just be patient."_

Sheep were herded quickly, before the boys went about the rest of their chores. They tended to the three horses, got into in a hay fight in the bard's loft, tidied up the barn, and checked on the dog as he patrolled his route around the sheep. By the time they made their way into the house, with Cian riding on Niall's back like he was some sort of noble steed, the sky was growing dim.

"If you two didn't fuss around so much, you would get done faster," Lochlann observed wryly, while he hobbled towards the fireplace (despite his crippled knee, he had long since given up using a cane; it was too much of a bother without his left hand).

"No clue what you're talkin' about." Cian's boots thunked down onto the floor, and Niall cracked his back as melodramatically as he could. "You're delusional, Pa."

Lochlann rolled his eyes. "Go help your mother and brother with supper. Niall, firewood."

_"Mal, I'm _bored_."_

_ "You'll _live_. If nothing's happened in fifteen minutes-_real world_ time, not Animus time_-_we'll skip ahead a bit."_

'Helping mother cook' was less actually helping, and more just Cian and Muiredach handing her things and keeping her companying. They chatted about random things, but on the whole, Cian and Muiredach had never fallen into the inseparable stereotype that most twins fell into. Honestly, Cian preferred his cousin's company most days. Niall seemed more grounded than Muiredach, who seemed to be at his happiest fantasizing about ways to leave the farm. It was a mindset Cian just couldn't understand. Granted, that wasn't to say they didn't get along, and they loved each other regardless. But most of the time, Muiredach felt more like a cousin than Niall.

A clatter from outside brought Cian's full attention back to the present, and a moment later, Etain scurried into the house with a chunk of wood in her hands. She bolted through the kitchen, Cian and Muiredach watching her like she was some sort of spectator sport, and into the other room, where she exclaimed, "Papa, I'm helping!"

Blergh. Children Sisters.

Dinner went quickly, and then Cian and Niall once more retreated to the fields, as yet another argument between Muiredach and Lochlann broke out.

"D'you think I could just tell people you're my brother? No one would notice."

Niall snorted. "Right. No one would notice that ye' look just like each other. Ye'r plan is flawless."

"Meh."

True enough. Cian and Niall could very easily be stood next to each other, and people would be hard pressed to guess they were related. Cian's narrow features, to Niall's rounded ones. Cian's short, sinewy gawkiness, to Niall's tree-like stockiness. Cian's auburn hair, to Niall's strawberry blond curls. Freckles, to few. Hazel eyes, to green eyes. They probably wouldn't make very convincing brothers.

"He'll come 'round eventually. He's just feelin' rebellious."

"I s'pose. He's takin' his damned time, though-wait." Cian quirked his head to one side. "Dog's barkin'."

"Think it's serious?"

A single shot rang out, and the dog fell silent after a final, piercing yelping.

"_Shit!_" Cian took off at a sprint, scrambled onto the lip of the rain barrel as he approached it, and caught the edge of the hayloft's window. He pulled himself up into the window, caught the top of it in both hands, and braced his foot against the side of it. He kicked off and grabbed the edge of the roof, and then hauled himself up.

"Someone's comin' up the path!" he called, as Niall sprinted for the house.

A second shot, and then a heavy thud as Niall hit the ground.

Cian clamped his hands over his mouth to hold in a strangled squall. He stood rooted to the spot for a drawn out moment (no no no no no nonononono Niall no get up get up getupgetupgetupgetup), before he realized that the man below was reloading. And then he dove for the edge of the roof, wrapped his hands around it, swung himself into the hayloft, and ducked away from the edge of the window.

Back to the wood, he took a second to compose himself. Niall might just be hurt. Maybe he was just unconscious. After all, Cian hadn't exactly been able to see where he was shot (no no no no-_get ahold of yourself_). Maybe he was fine. …Right. Okay. Just…hold onto that thought.

Cian vaulted back into action, landing with a thud on the barn floor. He ran out the door, ducked around the back of the barn, and paused for a moment, just to be sure he was still alone. Satisfied that he hadn't been followed, he sprinted along the back of the barn, towards the house.

It was like reaching the gates of Heaven, when he threw open the back door into the kitchen.

"Mama! Papa!"

He got no reply, and instead heard a scuffle from the main room. The Kingdom, it seemed, had already been breeched.

Cian tried to get into the room, but something had been wedged in front of the door, making it so he could only open it a couple of inches. He heaved his weight against it, slowly creaking it open, while he listened to what sounded like some sort of sword fight (since when did they even have a sword?), seen only in brief flashes when they crossed in front of the door's slowly widening margin.

The door barely open wide enough for him to even get an arm through, everything fell deathly silent, until Muiredach stammered out, "I-I'm fine, Father."

"Let him go. I told you, Ben, I don't have it. I haven't had it for years. He can't help you."

"He'll make a nice bit of insurance, then."

Muiredach gasped sharply, and then fell silent, and the front door was thrown open right after. Footsteps retreated outside.

Cian gave up on getting the door to the main room open, to instead bolt back out the back door.

The stranger had stolen one of the horses from the barn, and climbed onto its bare back, a very unconscious Muiredach slumped in front of him. Lochlann stood silhouetted in the light from the open front door, pistol in hand as he tried to aim around Muiredach. He lowered the gun, however, when the stranger pressed his own to Muiredach's temple. The moment stretched taught like a wire, before the horse wheeled around and galloped off.

Cian had no weapons. He had no experience with this. He was just a farm boy. He stood stock still, staring after the disappearing horse, the world going muffled around him.

"-an. …Cian!"

He snapped back to himself with a gasp and a strangled sob as his father shook his shoulder. He could dimly hear Atain sobbing in the house, and he could see his mother kneeling at Niall's side.

"Cian!"

Another jostle, and his attention snapped to Lochlann's face. "Papa… Papa-Niall, he-"

"Your mother will look after him. Come with me." Lochlann gave Cian's elbow a tug, and made his way back into the house with surprising speed, son staggering listlessly at his heels.

There was a trunk in the main room, under the window, pressed against the wall. It had been there for as long as Cian could remember, but he had never really questioned what was in it. He had pretended it was treasure when he was little, but since then he had always assumed it was decorative. It was to that trunk that Lochlann now went, dropping stiffly to his knees and fighting with the latch, one handed. With mechanical motions, Cian pushed his father's hand aside, lifted the latch, and pulled open the lid.

…Clothes? It was a trunk of clothes. But Lochlann ignored much of it, instead pulling out a pair of vambraces and a belt holster for a gun. He shoved the mass of leather into Cian's arms, and after a beat of nothing happening, he snapped impatiently, "Put them on!"

Cian flinched and jerked into motion. One vambrace, the other, and then the belt, and he tightened them all in reverse order.

"Arms out, spread eagle, bend your wrists back," Lochlann instructed, rapid-fire, as he got back to his feet. "Flex your arms, like so."

Cian did as he was told, and he was rewarded with a pair of quiet, metallic clicks. Quickly, he looked from one arm to the other, a thin blade extended from both vambraces. What were these things, and why did his father have them? Who had that stranger been, why did his father know him, and why did he take Muiredach?

Lochlann slid his flintlock pistol into the holster at Cian's hip, and attached a pouch of ammo to the belt.

"You need to listen carefully, Cian. Alright?" He squeezed Cian's shoulder. "I used to be an Assassin. Ben is a Templar. We used to fight each other. I used to have a treasure, and Ben showed up because he thought I still had it. The only other thing that's important is that you need to get your brother back, no matter what. Can you do that?"

"But Papa, I-"

Lochlann gave him another brief shake, and repeated slowly, "Can you do that?"

Cian swallowed thickly and looked to the blades still extending from his wrists. He flexed his arms again, and the blades recessed with quiet clicks.

"I…I think so."

"Good boy. Go ready a horse. I'll be right out."

"_Well that escalated quickly."_

_"Still bored?"_

_"Shut up."_

A horse was saddled, the saddlebags holding food and clothes. Cian adjusted himself in her saddle and accepted the reins from Lochlann.

"You should be able to follow his tracks until you get to the main road. If he hasn't veered off by then, head for London. You should be able to find someone who can point you towards Benjamin Ackley. Understood?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Good boy. Bring your brother home safely. I'll see you soon."

The horse's hooves thumped dully over the grass as she cantered towards the road.

_"You think Niall survived?"_

_"Probably not, but I suppose it's possible."_

_"Hm. Sad. Think Cian will ever find out?"_

_"I guess you'll have to wait to see, won't you?"_

Cian lost track of the hoof prints when the rain started. It was a miserable, soggy plod to the main road after that. The ensuing ride to London was long, but uneventful. Once he was in the city, though, he found himself out of sorts. Where was he supposed to go? Who was he supposed to ask? What was he even supposed to do if he found this Templar? Kill him? Something inside him cringed away from the thought.

He let Flower have her head, and sat listlessly in her saddle as she ambled down the street. Why had he agreed to this? (_"I-I'm fine, Father."_) He shook his head briefly. Focused. Stay focused.

_Christ_, he was tired.

"You make a piss poor Assassin, kid."

Cian sat up ramrod straight, so quickly that Flower came to a halt with a startled whicker.

"Utterly hopeless," the woman continued blithely, heedless of the way Cian stared at her, his eyes so wide they could have toppled from his head. "You make it obvious." She tucked a lock of long black curls behind her ear, and caught Flower's reins. "Whoever you're looking for could see you coming from Africa, I wager."

"Who are you?" he snapped, jerking on the reins, though she didn't relinquish her hold, dainty as it looked.

She tipped her head to the side, pale, doll-like features placid as she regarded him with round, brown eyes.

"You may call me Molly," she replied after a moment. "Come with me." Reins still in hand, she led Flower down the street.

Utterly baffled, Cian sat in the saddle like a sack of potatoes and left her to it. It wasn't until they had gone a few blocks that something occurred to him. She knew about Assassins. What if she was a Templar?

"Where are we goin'?"

"Not much further."

"That's not suspicious in the _slightest_."

"Says the child wearing blades in the open."

He glanced down at one of his vambraces, and then back down at her. "What, plannin' t' disarm me? Why not do it in public, then, if it's so obvious?"

Her eye roll may well have been audible. "Because I _don't_ want to disarm you, _child_." She gave him a narrow look over her shoulder, and it shifted to disdain as she continued. "But you are _clearly_ not an Assassin, and you clearly need help."

She led Flower into a stable attached to an inn, and stared at Cian expectantly until he dismounted and started to untack Flower. Once the horse was settled comfortably in a stall, Molly led Cian further into the stable, into the tack room.

The hatch in the floor blended so well that Cian didn't see it until Molly stomped down on the corner of it, causing it to lift with a mechanical clank. She pulled it the rest of the way open and gestured Cian down ahead of her, and then climbed down behind him, pulling the hatch shut.

"We run the inn," she explained, as she led him down a narrow corridor, "so we can operate under it." They emerged suddenly into a square, library-ish room. "Now tell me, boy. Who are you after, and why?"

Still Cian was anxious, but the red and white room, adorned with the same crest as his father's vambraces, seemed like pretty convincing proof. So he took a breath and answered, "My brother was taken by Benjamin Ackley. My father sent me t' find them."

Her eyebrows rose. "Ackley?" She gave a low whistle. "Nasty fellow, though he's falling down the totem pole lately. But why didn't your daddy dearest send _himself_, assuming he's the Assassin?"

Not liking the implications of her tone, Cian's own words took on an impatient tinge as he replied, "He's missin' a hand, and he broke his knee a while back."

As if a torch had been lit, Molly's eyes brightened with recognition. "Loch!" she cried jubilantly. "You're O'Buchalla's kid!"

"Cian," he supplied, baffled by the fact that she actually knew his father. "You know my dad?"

"He was my mentor!" she enthused, and seemed half a second away from bouncing in sheer glee.

A bead of memory nagged at Cian, and he scrutinized her for a few seconds, before wondering, "…Mad Little Molly Maxilla?"

"He remembers me!" That time she _did_ squeal, and then she pulled Cian into a brief hug. "Don't you worry. Any family of Loch's is family of mine," she assured him, moving back to arm's length. "I'll help get you ready to get your brother back."

Cian nodded hesitantly. "Thanks."

_"She's one of Lani's, isn't she."_

_"Let's see… Mary 'Molly' Maxilla, great-times-so-many-grandmother on Lani's maternal side. Yep, one of Lani's."_

_"Figures."_

Some appropriately Assassin-ish clothing was the first step. ("If you want to feel like a proper Assassin, it helps to at least look like one…even if you're still scrawny.")

Scrawny though he was, Cian did manage to look slightly intimidating in the get up. He wore a black tunic, edged in red, and black leggings, plus his brown boots with the addition of knee guards. A red, lace-up vest went over the tunic, and the hooded coat over that, and his gun belt over top of the entire lot. The white coat, edged in black, was the most important bit, visually. It closed only over the top of his chest, with three wide, brass buttons, a red jewel holding the hood closed in front of his throat. The rest was open, showing the vest and tunic beneath. With his hood up, he became some sort of faceless wraith…or he would, when he got used to it and learned how to stand up straight, as if he wasn't trying to get the earth to swallow him. It fit well enough, and Molly assured him he could get it tailored as he grew (which was a lie, because he never grew; not a lick above 5'6", even if he did bulk up to better fill the coat out).

"This really necessary?" Cian did still have his doubts about sneaking around, unnoticed, in a white coat.

Molly gave him a critical look. "Will Mr. Ackley tell you anything if you confront him looking like a frightened barn rat?"

Cian shuffled his feet, and admitted, "Prob'ly not," even if he still didn't think he was anywhere near intimidating.

"That's right," Molly replied primly, with a proper little nod. "Now then." She led him through the hideout, into a square, empty room. "Let's make you into a fighter."

Her blades, hidden beneath the sleeves of her elaborate dress, slid out with a pair of quiet clicks, and she lunged without warning.

Cian yelped, startled and more than a small bit confused, and brought his arms up. Arms crossed in front of himself, he blocked one blade with a bracer, and the other with the clatter of metal on metal, blade on blade. "Are you _crazy_?" he demanded sharply, voice rising half an octave.

"Learn by doing!" she chirped in reply, as she spun aside and lashed out again.

The lessons went on for days, and then even longer, and never when Cian was actually expecting them to happen (though he supposed that was the point). Hidden blades, knives, swords. The only thing she didn't decide to teach him was shooting. ("Really, you just point, pull, reload, repeat. It's not that hard.") The lessons continued until his clumsiness left his movements, until he moved with little finesse (and even less grace), but like he at least knew what he was doing.

And then, finally, a lead. Cian hadn't really kept track of how long he had been in London at that point, alternating between living in the Assassin Burrow, as he had dubbed in, and trailing after Molly across the city as she refined his climbing abilities. ("How d'you move in all'a those skirts?" "Practice. That thing you keep whining about.") Molly shook him from his bed, and pressed a coin pouch into his hand as he was still scrubbing sleep from his eyes.

"One of my boys caught wind of Ackley. He was spotted in Paris; should be there for a while yet. Catch the ferry across the Channel; find Remy when you get there. He'll help you track him down."

Cian fumbled into his clothes as Molly spoke, and then he hugged her briefly and made his way back to the stable, where he found Flower already packed and tacked.

"Thank you," he told Molly one last time, before he led Flower out of the stable and hauled himself into her saddle.

_"Think I'll run into her again?"_

_"You? No. Cian? Unlikely. From what we know of him, he wasn't particularly active in Europe."_

_"Damn. I like her more than Benigno's friends."_

_"Boohoo."_

Flower did not appreciate the ferry, but very few people were on it in the middle of the…night? morning? so it could have been worse. She stomped the ground with one irate hoof, as Cian tried to figure out how he was supposed to know who or what a Remy was.

"_Bonjour._"

"Jesus!" (It came out more like a sharply accented, "Jayses!") Cian whipped around, one hand to his chest as he did.

The young man, dressed in black and white, hooded and scarfed, was holding a rather content pigeon close to his chest and laughing at Cian's surprise. "Je m'excuse," he added, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.

"Remy?" Cian wondered cautiously, tugging Flower's reins to bring her closer.

The older boy-not much of him was actually visible, beneath the hood and the scarf and the pigeon, but Cian figured he was probably around Niall's age (oh, hell, Niall-Cian cut that train of thought off before he could get sidetracked)-laughed. "I did not mean to startle you," he offered, rather than just a yes or a no.

"Yes you did," Cian groused, to which Remy just laughed again. "Where the hell did you even come from?"

"Over there," Remy replied, innocence thick over the words, as he pointed to a bench a few yards off. "Molly tells me you are looking for a Monsieur Ackley."

Cian nodded twice, jerkily. "Any idea of where t'find 'im?"

"_Non._" Remy planted the hand that wasn't holding he pigeon on his hip, and he sounded mildly annoyed by the admission. "But with my Brothers around the city, he will turn up in no time." He slid Cian a curious look after that, leaning his head to one side slowly, before he wondered, "Our Brothers?"

For now, Cian ignored the matter that 'no time' had already been growing to 'quite a bit of time.' His shoulders slumped slightly at the question. "No," he answered, followed quickly by, "I mean, maybe. But not yet." He dragged the fingers of his free hand through his hair, hood falling down with the motion.

Remy just clapped him companionably on the shoulder. "I do not blame you." He crooked two fingers, leading Cian aside. "You have other things to worry about." They walked just far enough to find a short-ish, kind of scrubby brown horse grazing behind a shed. "I have no blood brothers," Remy continued, as he tucked the pigeon into the hood he was still wearing, turning his hair into a literal bird's nest, "but I would do many things for my Assassin brothers." He pulled himself up into his horse's saddle.

Following his lead, Cian slid his left foot into Flower's left stirrup, and then swung himself up into her saddle. They fell into line behind Remy's horse at an easy trot.

"Are we goin' t' another hideout?"

"_Oui._" Remy continued looking straight ahead, but he sounded like he was grinning. "Not ours, though. A closer one." He didn't elaborate beyond that.

Their boots hit the cobblestones in front of a two story, rather plain looking building. A young, disinterested man led the horses away and Remy led Cian inside.

The room they stepped into was tastefully lavish, standing at odds with the building's public face. A few women, of all ages, loitered about, their blouses low cut, their corsets tight, and their skirts hiked up. Cian shifted uncomfortably as one of them met his eyes, and a beaming smile crossed her face.

She was a tall, olive skinned young woman, with dark hair and eyes. Despite her broad smile, she still managed to be intimidating as she spoke in rapid, incomprehensible French.

_"This is so weird."_

_"Do tell."_

_"Cian doesn't know French."_

_Malcolm snorted in vague amusement. "Just pretend, Bonnie."_

She caught on quickly to Cian's slightly panicked, doe-eyed stare. "English?" she inquired, instead.

Cian nodded quickly.

"Oh!" She clapped her hands together cheerfully. "This is precious!"

"Remy, can we play with him for just a little while?" a second woman asked, her amusement heavily accented.

Cian backed up quickly, until Remy caught him with one arm around the back of his shoulders.

"Enough teasing," Remy replied, sterner than he had been outside. "He has not had an easy time lately."

The first woman's smile softened. "Je suis de'sole'. We're just making fun." She offered her hand, eyes brightening when Cian shook it. "I am Isabel."

"Cian," he mumbled in reply.

_"Oh my god, he's so awkward."_

_"You must feel such kinship with him."_

_Siobhan lifted one hand blindly, waving his middle finger in Malcolm's general direction._

People came in and out throughout the day, and Cian understood little of what was said, beyond gleaning some of the simplest words. Remy had disappeared not long after they arrived, claiming he had business to attend to, and Cian found himself drifting anchorlessly around the main room, until he needed space away from the ebb and flow of people, and he found the small stable behind the building, where Flower was eating happily.

"This is a lot more people than I ever saw at the farm," he told her quietly, as he leaned his temple against her pale, snowy neck. "More than at the hideout in London, too."

Flower snorted and pawed the ground, until Cian lifted a hand to stroke her cheek.

"I figured you wouldn't mind if I stayed out here with you for a while."

"Cian?" Isabel sounded curious as she called to him.

Cian's shoulders slumped slightly as his illusion of privacy evaporated. He debated ignoring her, but really, what was the point? She had been nice enough so far, so what would it accomplish? He waved his free hand out in front of the stall.

Isabel breezed over, with a pleasant, "There you are. Remy would surely throw some sort of tantrum if we misplaced you during his absence."

"No, I'm just misplacin' myself."

"You are alright?" she asked, with quiet concern.

Cian tugged his fingers through his hair. "Jus'…overwhelmed."

"Remy said you haven't had a good time, recently. What is wrong?" She leaned lightly against the wall of the stall.

He sighed out a noisy breath. "I'm lookin' for Benjamin Ackley. He took my brother."

"Oh!" One of Isabel's hands flew up to cover her mouth. "_Je suis de'sole'!_" She hesitated for a moment after that, before carefully wondering, "When was it?"

Cian nuzzled his temple against Flower's fur, eyes focused on the straw-strewn floor as he thought back to the night he left the farm. It didn't seem like it had been so long ago, but he supposed it had been. "Six months ago?" he hazarded.

Isabel didn't manage to hide her flinch, and Cian didn't blame her. They both knew the odds of Muiredach still being alive.

"It's been sort of a rush. Molly always kept me pretty busy."

Isabel set one hand on Cian's shoulder and smiled quietly. "Thank you for telling me."

He glanced from her hand to her face, catching her eyes for only the briefest moment. "I've gotten pretty used t' talkin' about it," he added. "Seems like it's all anyone will talk about, half the time."

Isabel squeezed his shoulder, and moved her hand to instead tilt his chin up, so he had to look at her. "Would you like to join me for dinner, Monsieur O'Buchalla?"

Cian smiled slightly, one corner of his mouth quirking up minutely. "I don't see why not."

_"That had to be a euphemism for something."_

Isabel's personal room was small, but cozy. Less lavish than the main room, but no less tasteful. It was pretty, in its shades of red. Comfortable. They sat at a table in the corner, food long gone and laughter taking its place.

"I can't imagine the sheep approved of that," Isabel observed, poorly masking her giggling behind one hand.

"Well, no. They never approved of Niall as a whole, really. Made shearin' season fun. Anyway, so, she was not a happy mama, and she decided t' show this by chasin' 'im halfway t' Kingdom Come and back, and he didn't get away until he climbed up onto the barn. And somehow, the dog made it up there with 'im, and it took us three hour t' get the damn mutt back down. I mean, this was a big dog; he was bigger than me." He leveled the tip of one finger at her nose as he added, "Not a word."

She rolled her eyes skyward, the picture of innocence, before she snorted out a less-than-dainty laugh.

"Do you miss it?" she wondered, when composure was once more a thing that existed.

Cian didn't even have to think it over. "I miss _them_. I like cities well enough, though. So far, at least. And I've got Flower. She helps." He tipped his head to one side. "But what about you? You already know plenty about me."

Isabel arched one knowing brow. "I feel as if you're asking why I have this job."

Cian shrugged guiltlessly. "I can't say I haven't wondered."

"Everyone does," she replied dryly, before she leaned her elbows on the table and propped her chin up in both hands. "For the people, mostly. I've no interest in baking, cooking, cleaning… I don't wish to be a mother or a wife." She shrugged. "But I do wish to talk to people. To be with people. All sorts of people; they're fascinating. My work may not be smiled upon by many, but at least it has given me what I wanted."

Cian smiled as she spoke, his arms folded on top of each other on the table. "You're a lot different than any of the girls back home."

"This is good?" Isabel wondered, arching one eyebrow again.

"I think so," Cian replied earnestly. "Better than an everyman like me."

"Everyone is unique, Cian," she told him, unexpectedly serious. "And I rather like you so far." She grinned impishly. "I like cute boys."

"_Me_?" he managed, startled, pitch rising slightly.

"Yes, you!" Movements decisive, she stood up and held her hands out, pulling him to his feet when he took them. She towed him over to her mirror and stood him before it, hands on his shoulders as she stood behind him. "You see?"

"Are you sure we're lookin' at the same mirror?" he wondered wryly, casting a fleeting glance at her.

"I rather like this one, actually," she answered easily.

He snorted skeptically. For a moment, when she rolled her eyes, he worried he had annoyed her. And then she turned him around and kissed him.

It was a short, fast kiss, leaving him no time to react or reciprocate, and so he simply stared at her, eyes wide. "Ah-I-" He closed his mouth with an audible click when it become apparent that nothing coherent was going to come out, and Isabel giggled at him quietly.

"Believe me yet?" she teased lightly.

"W-well." Cian swallowed. "That was…was fairly convincin'."

"Only _fairly_ convincing?" She pouted carefully, before she took his hands again, to tow him towards her bed. "Shall I try harder, then?"

Cian tripped after her, eyes still as wide as the moon. "I-I haven't-I've never-" His voice dried up again.

Isabel's smile gentled. "I know. Do you want to?"

Everything in Cian's head seemed to grind to a silent halt for a second, before he got the system going again. Well…why not? He was almost sixteen. They were getting along well enough. And who knew what turns his life was going to take next? He nodded once, a stiff, quick jerk of his head.

She offered him a beaming smile.

_"I knew it was a euphemism for something."_

_"Your maturity is staggering."_

_"Fifteen and getting more action than me."_

_"Pfft. I know for a fact that you aren't a virgin, Bonnie."_

_"Stalker."_

It was…surprisingly not awkward, afterward. Cian was still Cian. Isabel was still Isabel. It had been awkward for about half a minute, entirely on Cian's end, and then Isabel had carried on like normal and they cleaned up the dishes from dinner. Granted, Cian didn't magically feel anymore attractive than he had beforehand, but it had certainly been enjoyable (albeit very clumsy, also entirely on Cian's end).

"Aha! There you are!" Remy-and with his hood down and his scarf tied around his waist, silver-gray eyes visible and light, mousy brown hair pulled into a short tail, Cian was left to identify him entirely by voice-snagged him in the main room. His impatient scowl slowly morphed into something impish as he took in the unlaced vest, the missing belt and vambraces, the crook coat. "Well. I am glad you managed to keep yourself entertained. You certainly did not waste any time."

Cian flushed scarlet. "I-uh…um…"

Laughing, Remy clapped him on the back, kissed him on the cheek, and slung one arm around his shoulders. "'Relax' is more of a foreign word to you than it is to me, I believe." Arm still around Cian's shoulders, Remy walked towards the door. "Let us go. I will take you to our den."

_"Is he one of Richard's? Remy, I mean. Since I seem to find them in pairs."_

_Malcolm hummed contemplatively as he browsed through files. "No, sorry. We've got no records on him, period. Far as we can tell, Remy's line ended with Remy."_

The Assassin's den was only a stone's throw away from the brothel, behind and under a dilapidated tavern. The only clue that the Assassins were at all involved with the tavern was a hooded man in the corner, dozing with his boots on the table. They left him alone. If nothing else, it was more crowded than the den in London, though that didn't take much. Remy kept the tour and introductions brief.

Time passed quickly in Paris. Leads came and went, leading them from one part of the city to another, from one city to the next, but always they led to naught, and always they fell back to Paris.

Cian learned new skills without even meaning to. Yes, he continued training with weapons, of course. But beyond that, Cian spent much of his time following Remy like a shadow. His climbing, his speed, his endurance improved. And further still, he got silent, learning unconsciously to move soundlessly, to keep from disturbing Remy and the other Assassins as he trailed after them.

Not all of his time was spent with Remy, though. Frequently, he spent time with Isabel, intimately or otherwise. Sometimes they fucked, sometimes they had dinner, and sometimes they simply talked, Isabel speaking with patient slowness as Cian stumbled through his gradually improving French.

"Do you have any new leads?" she wondered, as they strolled along the street, speaking in English, because business was still a bit too complicated for Cian to manage.

He snorted bitterly. "When you say 'leads,' do you mean when someone says 'oh, he said that she said that he said that he's in Montreal,' or when someone says 'I think I saw a brunet, does that help?'" He dragged one hand through his hair, and Isabel grabbed his other hand, giving his fingers a squeeze.

"Ackley is one man, Cian," she reminded him gently. "One man, in all of France? I would have an easier time finding a strand of hair in the street."

Cian heaved a sigh, the greater part of his irritation drying up with the expelled breath. "I know, I know. Just…not in the best mood. Was sort of hopin' I would be home by my birthday, is all."

Isabel hummed sympathetically, and leaned over to kiss him lightly. "Well, happy birthday, regardless."

But it was not a terribly happy birthday. Cian returned to the den, just for Remy to nearly pounce on him as he entered the tavern.

"There you are!" He grabbed Cian by the hood, and began pulling him back out to the street. "_Allons-y_!"

"Where are we goin'?" Cian demanded, baffled, as he fell properly into step.

"I am being sent on a fetch quest. You are helping."

"Well, what are we fetchin'?" he asked, words faintly laced with exasperation.

"A map," Remy replied, as they entered the stable, Flower and Louis already saddled. "Before you ask, I am not certain what it is for. But it may involve crawling into small spaces to get it, and we are both skinny."

"So glad to help," Cian deadpanned.

Remy's shoulders rose in an exaggerated shrug. "They pulled seniority on me."

"Those fiends." Cian pulled himself into Flower's saddle, and waited with feigned impatience for Remy to get settled in Louis's, before bowing him forward with a flourish. "Lead on."

Remy aimed a swat at Cian's head as he trotted ahead.

They wound up a church, abandoned and somewhat crooked and soon to fall down, from the look of it.

"We'll fall through the floor," Cian decided, after a moment of staring.

"Good," Remy replied, with clear amusement. "It will make our trip shorter." They left the horses to wander as they crept inside. "We have to get to the…" he groped for the word, "…underneath."

"Crypt?" Cian supplied, stepping carefully over a particularly suspect board.

"No." Remy's mouth twisted in irate confusion. "No dead people."

"Catacombs?"

"_Oui!_" He clapped a hand over his mouth as a flock of birds took wing from the rafters, and grinned sheepishly through his fingers. "_Merci._"

Miraculously, they didn't fall through the floor, though they did take the stairs at a sprint, just in case. Cian felt much safer in the tunnels, hard packed dirt and stone beneath his feet.

Remy lit a torch, and they made their way carefully along the tunnel, conversation sparse.

"Wait." Cian's whisper sounded loud, after half an hour of quiet. "I hear somethin'."

Two voices drifted viciously distantly down the tunnel.

"_God fuck it all!_" Remy bit out viciously under his breath. "I was told it would be unguarded. I would not have brought you if I had known."

Cian's apprehension shrank away, as irritation crowded into its place. He had been training and shadowing them for almost a year. He had dragged dummies, and even recruits into holes, off of roofs, into sheds. True, he hadn't killed them, but that was only one extra step, right? Besides, there was no guarantee he would have to go that far here.

"So distract them. You deal with them, I'll grab the map. They'll never even hear me." One hand on his hip, Cian gestured Remy forward impatiently, when he didn't immediately reply.

"_Yes, alright,_" Remy agreed reluctantly, and started forward, Cian trailing silently at his heels.

They could see only two guards, and Remy needed to think for only a moment, before he darted into another tunnel, torchlight bobbing away with him. A minute later, from a handful of yards down, there was a clatter.

The guards argued for a moment ("_What was that noise?" "I don't know. Go look." "No, you do it." "No, you go!") _before one of them went to investigate. When he didn't come back after a couple minutes, the second guard went after him.

Cian crept over to the sturdy, but rather plain box off to the side. And then he froze.

There was a third guard, in a chair just around the corner from the box, asleep. Cian swallowed, steeled himself, and continued his silent creep towards the box. His fingers were just above the lid, when a scream from the second guard echoed down the tunnel.

The third guard's eyes snapped open, and he gaped groggily at Cian for a split second, before he scrambled for his sword.

It was only a few seconds, but it seemed to slow to a crawl. Cian blocked the guard's swing with his right bracer, and slammed his left hand forward, forearm tensing. The blade deployed with a meaty crunch, sinking through skin and muscle and bone, as the heel of Cian's hand met the guard's throat.

The guard gasped and gargled, held upright only by the blade still in his neck, and his sword slipped from his fingers, hitting the ground with a clatter.

Cian dimly heard footsteps rushing toward him, but he didn't pay attention to them, gaze arrested by the guard's sightless eyes. Cian retracted the blade, and the body crumpled to the ground. He stared blankly at it, until Remy came up behind him and placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

"Cian?" Remy hedged quietly.

"I'm fine," Cian reported back, words flat, almost mechanical. "Just grab the box. I wanna get out of here."

_"Happy birthday to you," Siobhan sang under his breath, words floating in sardonic humor, "happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Cian, happy birthday to you."_


	3. Intermission One

**Notes:** Yes, intermission. I like the modern day characters just as much as I like the ancestors (to be fair, I am unhealthily fond of _most_ of my characters), and I wanna include them more. So between the main chapters, you get itty bitty intermissions. Besides, the last chapter was like 22 pages. An intermission is probably warranted.  
I kinda meant for this to be goofy? But _that_ was a bust.  
**Chapter Rating:** G  
**Word count:** This chapter, 466. In total, 7710.  
**Obligatory Disclaimer:** I don't own Assassin's Creed, and I am not affiliated with Ubisoft. This is written purely for my own entertainment. However, I do own all of the characters in this fic.

* * *

"Ooooh my god, I'm _starving_." Siobhan disconnected himself from the Animus, shoved the goggles at Malcolm's chest, and lurched towards the door, grabbing his glasses as he went.

He found Richard waiting for him, being talked at by a courier and utterly ignoring him. Wordlessly, he brandished a cup of coffee at Siobhan, who snatched it greedily.

They stood there somewhat patiently, until the courier finished speaking, and then Richard handed him an envelope.

"We can go," he stated quietly, before the courier could even walk away.

Not needing any encouragement beyond that, Siobhan grabbed Richard by the wrist to haul him down the hall. "Yes. Going. _Food_." He made to detour towards the dorms, but Richard simply kept walking.

"Lani cannot join us today," Richard reported mildly, as they continued towards the elevator. "She has a job to do," he added, in his carefully modulated tone.

Siobhan blew out a breath. "Dammit." He tipped his head back to drain the coffee in a few long gulps. "Whatever, let's just go. Dinner's on you today."

* * *

The cafe was mildly crowded, but their table in the corner was out of the way. Siobhan plowed through his gyro like a starving dog. Richard, reuben going ignored for the moment, watched him shrewdly.

"What?" Siobhan demanded, finally.

Richard quirked one eyebrow.

"You're an awful conversationalist," Siobhan groused.

The other eyebrow rose.

Siobhan shimmied uncomfortably under the scrutiny, before he slumped forward in defeat. Arms folded on the table, he dropped his chin down to rest on them. "It's happening more quickly this time. Pretty sure Mal already knows, since I've _already_ started referring to Cian in the first person. And how weird is that?" His words picked up speed as he spoke, and Richard finally began to eat. "He's not even fifteen, he's barely three fifths my age and I'm identifying with him. It's _creepy_, is what it is. And all for some shiny little bauble that will be six kinds of useless when we finally pinpoint it! It'll probably get locked in a box and put in a storage closet." He sat up, one leg bouncing, and propped his chin up on one hand. "I'm not even supposed to be _in_ the Animus. I'm a _tech_ for God's sake. But noooo, everyone's gotta go all anal retentive and track down the smallest, most useless trinket." He made to tug one hand through his hair.

Richard's hand shot forward, catching Siobhan's wrist halfway through the movement.

Siobhan blinked at his hand, and Richard let him go, so he could instead drop his head down in one hand, glasses going askew.

"I don't usually do that. Do I."

Richard hummed a quiet negative.

"…Yeah. Didn't think so." He glanced down at his watch. "We should probably get back soon."


	4. Chapter Two

Chapter Rating: PG-13  
Word count: This chapter, 5,652 or so. In total, 13,362 or thereabouts.  
Notes: …Okay, it's been like two years? And this has _literally_ been written the entire time. I just never got around to proofreading it. Will I ever get to work on more of it? Maybe, I dunno. But I was re-reading the whole thing earlier and it seemed a shame to just ignore it, so I spruced it up and decided to finally post it.  
Also I still don't speak French, so I used more Google translate. _*_SHRUG*  
And I remembered to translate things this time, so italic underlined stuff is 'speaking French.' On tumblr I can just use hovertext to translate 3:  
Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed, and I am not affiliated with Ubisoft. This is written purely for my own entertainment. However, I do own all of the characters in this fic.

_"Well, someone's mood soured fast," Malcolm observed, as Siobhan stalked back in, Richard a few steps behind him. "Oh, and you've brought the security blanket."_

_Richard stretched languidly and dropped himself down into Malcolm's chair. One side of Siobhan's mouth twitched up, as Malcolm stared at Richard blankly, before throwing his hands up and hauling himself up to sit on the desk, instead._

_Siobhan pulled off his glasses, and reconnected himself to the Animus. As he held one hand out to the side, Malcolm handed him the goggles._

_A deep, slow sigh, and then he put the goggles back on._

_"Round two, then."_

Cian stood in the middle of the tavern, staring at his boots. Remy's hand on his shoulder didn't make him jump; in fact, he didn't even react to it.

"Why not go see Isabel?" Remy suggested, giving Cian's shoulder a squeeze.

"'m not mad at you," Cian said, not even tangentially related.

Remy let out a breath that didn't quite manage to be a laugh, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased. "That is good to know. You are still allowed to go see Isabel."

Cian shook his head slowly. "No. Not…not tonight. Do-" He paused, before he trailed off with a lame, "Never mind."

Remy watched him expectantly.

Cian snorted. "I should've brought my flute with me, when I left home."

"Oh." Remy tipped his head to one side. "…Wait here." He darted back out onto the street before Cian could argue.

He was only gone for about ten minutes, about four minutes longer than it took Cian to get impatient and pull up a chair. When Remy came back, he was carrying a case in his hands, and Cian brightened slightly at the sight of it.

"Where the Hell did you get that?" he asked, as he opened the case to look at the aged, slightly tarnished flute inside.

Remy waved it off. "There are a handful of unused instruments at _La Fleur_. They do not mind."

Cian didn't reply immediately, turning the flute in his grasp and inspecting it. Remy patted him on the shoulder and breezed further into the tavern, heading for the den. A moment later, Cian was on his feet again, heading for the stable.

There were never many people in the stable, and with the moon high in the sky, he knew he was guaranteed something at least resembling privacy.

It had been nearly a year since he had last played, but he still remembered how, even if he was a bit rusty. He picked carefully through the notes of a slow, simple song. Flower flicked one ear towards him, whickering softly, as he slid down the wall to sit in front of her stall.

It was a chilly night, but he was comfortable enough, and the act of playing the music was comforting, a sort of soothing nostalgia.

He didn't remember falling asleep. Certainly, he didn't remember moving back inside. And yet when he awoke the next morning, he was in his bed in the den, the flute sitting on the small bedside table. He was still fully dressed, boots and all, and found himself disoriented, wondering if he had sleep walked back to his room.

He found the Assassin's hood strangely unappealing that morning-suffocating, almost. He stripped off the coat, the vest, the tunic, and pulled on a plainer tunic, before he wandered out into the den.

Remy was arguing with someone in the library, voice hushed as a rapid stream of French poured out.

"_I'm not taking it. Give it to someone else. Hell, send it to London. Molly has experience with these things._"

"_For the love of God, Remy, can you cooperate for five minutes? We trust you with this!_" The other Assassin pinched the bridge of his nose.

"_And I do not want that trust! I prefer not to ruin my life to prove myself to the cause-_Oh! Cian!" His expression brightened in an instant. "I did not see you there."

The taller Assassin left so quickly he seemed to evaporate. Cian watched him go before turning his attention back to Remy.

"Did I interrupt somethin'?"

"Ah-no," Remy answered quickly.

A beat, and Cian arched one eyebrow.

"Well, yes, but I am glad you did," Remy admitted. "You fell asleep in the stable, you know."

Cian snorted. "So I gathered. I'm gonna assume Flower didn't bring me back inside."

Remy shrugged exaggeratedly, palms up. "You never know. You are not exactly heavy, after all."

"My, what an incriminatin' statement."

"Pardon? I did not say anything."

Cian snorted.

They were quiet for a moment, until Remy finally asked, "You are alright?"

"I'm-" Cian huffed out a sigh and dragged one hand through his hair, for a second bemused at the lack of a hood that had become characteristic. "I'm fine." At Remy's skeptical glance, he added firmly, "I mean it." He folded his arms. "I'm not…happy about it, but I'll get over it."

Hesitantly, Remy wondered, "Will you come with me on my next job?" He rubbed his hands together and rocked back on his heels. "If not you, it will be Abel and I am…not entirely happy with him at the moment."

Cian contemplated the wall. "Alright," he agreed, as if the word was falling out of its own accord. He had killed someone. Realistically, he had known he would have to do so ever since he left the farm, but knowing something 'in theory' was very different from having first hand experience. But…he had survived it. He hadn't gone crazy. And he would have to do it again eventually. He could do it again. It couldn't be too much worse.

Remy smiled. "Wonderful. Merci."

Granted, Cian didn't think agreeing would suddenly make him so busy.

_"Stop it."_

_Clang._

_"Knock it off."_

_Clack._

_"Dick."_

_Click._

_"Stop touching things. Bonnie, tell him to leave."_

_"You would make me kick out my moral support? How could you?"_

Cian ducked behind a door and waited until he heard a scuffle, and then six sets of footsteps hurrying away. He bolted from his hiding spot, snagged the satchel and the keys, and then scampered up the wall and over.

_"He is young," Richard observed quietly, as he clicked through Malcolm's files._

_"Sixteen and a half-ish, right now," Siobhan confirmed._

Cian listened as the fight went on outside his hiding place. This hadn't quite gone according to plan, but the guard-lone, but built like a work horse-had not taken the bait.

In hindsight, though, that was probably good. If he was so much trouble, he might very well have killed Remy, had Remy been on his own.

Cian leaned out of his hiding spot, hand curled around the corner of the wall. He whistled once, sharp and piercing, and called, "Hey!"

The guard turned, startled. Remy stabbed his sword through the back of his neck and out the front.

"I was handling it," Remy insisted, as he shook blood from the blade.

"Uh huh. Sure." Cian's skepticism may have been forming puddles on that ground, at that point.

"Really!"

_"Yaaaay," Siobhan intoned flatly, "I'm learning."_

_"Cian," Richard corrected, instantly, gentle but pointed. "Cian was learning."_

_"Right," Siobhan agreed, almost meek. "Cian."_

Cian perched in the rafters, fingers resting lightly against the wood between his toes. A gentle whistle drifted through the nearest window, almost entirely masked by noises on the street and the pacing footsteps of the courier below.

One hidden blade clicked out, and Cian dropped from his perch. He landed on the courier's back, blade sinking into his neck at the base of his skull. Cian killed him from behind, where he wouldn't have to look at him.

He straightened to his full height, blade retracting, and listened carefully. Remy whistled a second time, and Cian grabbed the pouch and jogged out to meet him, stepping over the body of the second courier, just outside the doorway.

"We should get a drink," Remy decided, apropos of nothing.

Cian hummed in agreement and gestured for him to lead the way. …While silence wasn't the most mature decision Cian had ever made, speaking wasn't particularly high on his to-do list; not until his voice stopped cracking.

_"Oh, wonderful. Vicarious puberty. Just what I always wanted. Not like I haven't already done it."_

_Richard snorted._

_After a second, Malcolm wondered, "…Did Dick just laugh?"_

This was neither guard nor courier. This was a spy. She had managed to follow one of the others back to the den. Not Remy, not Abel-goodness knows, _never_ Abel, perfect Abel-and that was all Cian really cared about. He cornered her against the back wall of the tavern, and before she could even plead her case, it was done. Click click, one-two punch, heart and throat. She dropped.

Remy emerged from his search through the den, just to make sure there weren't any others, as Cian was hauling the body to the river.

"Does this happen often, and I've just never noticed?" he wondered, as Remy joined him silently on the bank, the body sinking.

"It has been awhile," Remy replied, ruffled like an annoyed cat. "But she appears to have been the only one. Thank you for handling her."

_"Aww, little Cian's all grown up and slaughtering people. Just about brings a tear to my eye."_

_Richard swatted at Siobhan's arm._

_"Hands off the test subject," Malcolm interjected flatly._

_There was a long moment in which nothing happened, and Siobhan could easily imagine Richard's blank stare and Malcolm's aggravated glower. And then Richard leaned back against the Animus, arms spread across the edge of it, as if it was the back of a couch, and he tipped his head back against Siobhan's knee._

_Malcolm scoffed, but didn't argue further._

"…Hi."

Isabel glanced up at him where he perched in the window like a bird ready to take flight, before she looked back to her mirror and resumed brushing her hair.

"Your voice is deeper," she observed, voice carefully neutral.

"…Yes." Cian scratched the back of his neck with the hand he wasn't using to balance.

"It's a pity you've forgotten how to speak, then."

He sighed and shifted, swinging his legs inside to sit on the window ledge. One forearm on his knees, he dragged his other hand through his hair, hood falling down. This wasn't quite what he'd had in mind. Hell, he didn't even know what he'd had in mind when he had decided to stop by.

"I'm sorry. I know, I haven't been around in a while-"

"Six months," Isabel interjected sharply.

"-and I'm sorry. I just-" He locked his fingers together between his knees and looked away. "It's been hectic." He shot her a nervous glance, before his gaze darted back to his boots. "I've missed you."

Isabel huffed and finally turned to face him, one hand on her hip, her hairbrush dangling from her other hand at her side. "I've missed you, as well, but six months? Because it's been _hectic_? Really, Cian?"

He looked at his left vambrace, the blade mechanism visible through the straps and laces. Both blades were clean and freshly sharpened. Almost pretty like this, if he decided to extend them. But he knew they hadn't been clean last night, as he and Remy stayed up to prowl the area around the tavern, just to make sure all was well.

"I wasn't sure if you would still want t' talk t' me," he admitted quietly.

Isabel cleared the few feet between them, close enough to tilt his chin up with one hand. "I know what Assassins do, Cian. We've helped them, in our own ways." Cian's dejected huddle began to unfold as she spoke. "Have you killed outside of a mission?"

"Well, no-"

"Then it's nothing I didn't already expect."

Cian smiled, hesitant and slow, but honest.

_"Benigno didn't have nearly as much of a moral dilemma," Siobhan observed mildly._

_"Benigno was a thieving street rat from the Renaissance," Malcolm pointed out._

Three months until Cian turned seventeen, and he had almost lost track of how long he had been in Paris; almost lost track of why he was in Paris.

"Are we even still lookin'?" he asked Remy one day, as they reclined on the roof of the tavern in the grainy sunlight.

Remy sighed. "It is as if he has dropped off the face of the world." He sprawled out on his back, one arm folded behind his head. "We have neither seen nor heard hide nor hair of him. We assume he is still in France, only because we have not heard about him leaving."

Cian grunted. "Lovely." What was that drifting away on the breeze? Oh, just the odds of him ever finding out what happened to his brother. Quaint. He flopped backwards beside Remy.

Remy reached over to jostle his shoulder. "We will find him. Yes? Yes. You are not giving up after this long."

Cian chuckled softly, more just a warm huff of air. "Well, I guess that _would_ be a waste of time, giving up."

_"He has so much more down time than Benigno. It's almost relaxing."_

_"Wasn't Benigno constantly chasing ducklings, though? That would keep anyone busy."_

_Siobhan rolled his eyes behind his goggles. "I can't believe you just referred to Renaissance Assassins as ducklings."_

_"Why? I've called you worse."_

_Richard snorted, and coughed against his hand to cover it._

_"…Seriously, does he ever just make noise like a normal person-Ow!"_

_"Richard, no hitting," Siobhan scolded._

Two months until Cian turned seventeen, and he wasn't entirely sure if he even wanted to leave Paris. Not anymore.

He jolted, startled, snapping his book closed out of reflex as someone pulled his hood down from behind. A pair of hands reached forward, briefly framing his face before they pulled his hair back, gathering it into a tail.

"It's not a mask," Isabel scolded playfully, as she combed the fingers of one hand through his hair a few times before tying it back, "so stop trying to hide behind it. I think the hood hides you well enough. I never get to see your face anymore."

Remy snickered behind his scarf, only to let out a startled squawk and duck to the side as Cian pitched the book at his face. "_For the love of God,_ Cian!"

Laughing, Cian managed an utterly unremorseful, "_Désolé!_"

Isabel folded her arms over the back of Cian's shoulders and rested her chin against them. "What are you two doing, hunkered down outside like this? It's not exactly a beautiful day."

"We are waiting for a courier," Remy replied, as he picked up Cian's book and leafed through it idly. "You are reading in French?"

"_I do learn these things after a while._" He reached for his book, but let his hand drop when it became apparent that Remy wasn't going to hand it over. "We're actually supposed to talk to this courier. Novel concept. Whoever decided it was a good idea t' split a map int' twenty pieces needs t' be shot."

"Perhaps it was a Templar. Then we are allowed to shoot them."

"If only."

Isabel hummed in quiet amusement. "Boys and their murder plots. It's very charming."

"_Merci beaucoup_. We're gentlemen."

Isabel lightly bonked her forehead against the back of Cian's head and pulled away. "Have fun waiting for your courier, boys," she said, as she turned to go.

"You're funny!" Cian called after her retreating back.

_"Why don't I get friends like this?"_

_Richard and Malcolm swatted him in tandem._

One month until Cian turned seventeen. He had been away from home for nearly two years. Home…didn't really seem like home, when he thought about it. Not anymore. Home, at that point, was a pair of teasing French accents. Home was not the farm where he'd heard his dog get shot and watched the same happen to Niall. But still, family was family, no matter how unlikely the odds were of him finding anything.

"Sorry?" He shook himself out of his thoughts when he heard someone speaking to him, glancing up at Remy.

"You are brooding again."

"Not broodin', just…thinkin'."

"So it is very deep brooding, then." Remy leaned one shoulder against the wall beside Cian, facing him.

"Why's it matter if I'm broodin'?" Cian wondered, one eyebrow raising.

Remy shrugged loosely. "It just does not seem like much fun. You never look particularly content, during your brooding." He prodded at Cian's shoulder with two fingers. "So, stop. With the brooding. Come have a drink with me." He gave Cian's shoulder a tug.

Cian rolled his eyes fondly. "That's your solution t' everythin'."

"It makes you so much more pleasant," Remy replied, feigning innocence and weaving aside to dodge the punch aimed at his sternum.

"Violence is not the answer, Cian," Remy scolded, tone briefly holier than thou.

"It's _corporal punishment_," Cian corrected, equally holier than though.

The semantics of violence versus corporal punishment aside, they did go get a drink. And a few more. And a couple more. And then Remy was heaving his guts up in an alley, Cian awkwardly patting his back while leaning against the wall for support.

"Okay. Okay, so-" He paused as Remy spit a few times, before he plowed on. "So. What're _you_ drinkin' t' forget?"

Remy slurred something in unintelligible English.

"…Y' wan' try tha' again?"

"_I think Abel found a lead on Ackley._" Cian stilled, but Remy continued, heedless. "_He's being quiet about it in case he's wrong, but I think that's what he was getting at._" He leaned heavily on the wall, shoulder pressed to Cian's. "_You're still going to leave, aren't you._" It should have been a question, but it wasn't.

"I-yes." Cian couldn't quite work out why Remy was so bothered by that fact, but he would leave the deep thinking for a more sober moment. "Were y' gonna tell me?"

"_Yes, when I knew for sure._" Remy sounded surly as he spoke, and then he rounded on Cian, hands on his shoulders. "_Your brother is probably dead by now!_" Cian flinched, and Remy gave him a shake. "_Why are you so determined to chase after a _**_corpse_**_?_"

Cian ducked out of Remy's hold and began backing out of the alley, away from him. Eyes too bright, Remy caught his wrist. "_Non, non, je suis de'sole'_. Cian, come back." He dropped Cian's wrist and fell back against the wall again, head meeting it with a heavy thunk. "_Je suis de'sole'_," he repeated, digging the heels of his hands against his eyes.

Cian waffled for a moment. Should he leave? No…no, that didn't seem right. Drunken ranking aside, this was still Remy. So…figure out what was actually wrong? That sounded better. But what came out was, "C'mon. Let's get back t' the den."

Somehow, miraculously, they did manage to drag each other back to the den without getting lost. Even more miraculously, they didn't fall down the stairs on the way to Cian's room.

They sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling and talking about nothing in particular. At some point, Cian fumbled his way into some clothes more appropriately for sleeping. He wasn't sure who wound up falling asleep first.

They were a disoriented tangle of limbs when Cian awoke the next morning. His head pounded in time with the footsteps in the hall, and his mouth tasted like a fish had died in it. As he disentangled himself from Remy, the other Assassin grunted and rolled over, only mumbling, "_Is it morning?_" after a couple minutes of unsuccessfully trying to get back to sleep.

"I'll get back t' you on that," Cian returned, equally groggy.

He dressed slowly, as Remy underwent the grueling process of sitting up.

They sat in muddy silence for a time, until Cian sighed slowly and dragged one hand through his hair. "So." He sat down on the bed once more.

"So?" Remy replied.

"You wanna tell me why it bothers you so much that I'm leaving eventually?"

Remy grunted and flopped over onto his back again. "I was hoping you would forget about my little outburst."

Cian peered down at him expectantly, and watched a parade of emotions cross his face, settling on resigned determination. Remy sat up on one arm, curling the other hand around the back of Cian's neck to pull him closer.

"What are you-?"

The kiss was quick and chaste, and Cian sat rooted to the spot, still as a statue.

Remy's eyes darted for a second, searching Cian's blank expression, before he evidently came to the wrong conclusion. "_God fuck it all,_" he muttered bitterly, worming his way out from beneath Cian, who was still leaning over him in surprise.

Remy's boots hit the floor with a clunk and jarred Cian back into motion. Cian turned to grab his shoulder, but Remy was already dashing out the door. Cian darted after him, shoulder hitting the wall across the hall with his speed, before he pushed himself off of it and kept going, dodging two people on the way to the stairs and only narrowly avoiding a third.

It wasn't much use trying to catch Remy. He had always been faster, and he had a head start. But Cian did pause outside the tavern to track him for a moment, noting the direction he went before deciding on where he was most likely running off to hide, and then he bolted off down the street.

Past a quiet cafe with a few couples drinking tea and coffee outside, down an alley between a church and a house, around the corner of a baker's shop, through the middle of an open air market, until the roundabout, circuitous route to the river was finally complete.

Cian rapped his knuckles on the side of the shed four times, and heard a slightly worrying crash from inside, but no one came out. With a quiet, drawn out sigh, he stepped around to the front of it.

"Remy?"

He stepped inside cautiously. Remy had backed himself against the back wall, a short ladder overturned in front of him. He had both hidden blades extended.

Cian raised both hands to show that he was unarmed (or at least as unarmed as he ever was). "Would I really follow you this far, just t' hurt you?"

"Well, you are a stubborn bastard," Remy replied unsteadily, but he retracted the blades, regardless.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Cian clarified, as he took a step closer. When Remy didn't move, Cian took another step closer, up onto the toppled ladder, and then down onto the other side. Three more steps brought him close enough that he could lean back against the wall beside Remy, their shoulders brushing.

As one, they slid down to sit on the floor.

"So." Remy shifted.

"So," Cian echoed. "You don't want me t' leave."

"_Non_. But I know you are still going to. And I apologize for running."

Cian slid sideways, to lean more heavily against Remy's shoulder, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Cian broke the silence. "I don't mind," he said quietly, not referring to Remy's panicked flight across the city. "I mean…I don't feel the same, but…you're my best friend, Remy."

Remy laughed gently, just a warm huff of air (more than he had expected, less than he had hoped for, it was clear), and leaned equally against Cian's shoulder. "Good."

_"I feel like I should have seen that coming."_

_Richard patted Siobhan's knee consolingly._

Cian sprawled on Isabel's bed, boots hanging over the side, and stared at the ceiling.

"I feel like I should have seen that coming." He splayed his arms out over his head.

Isabel peered down at him, mouth quirked in a crooked, cheeky smile. "He did give you his flute."

…Wait what. "That was his?"

"He didn't tell you?"

He snorted. "No."

She hummed thoughtfully. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what to tell you, or what you want me to say. Just…try not to hurt him."

"I know. I'll do my best."

_"Is she related to Richard?"_

_"No," Malcolm replied, his eye roll nearly audible. "You've already met his ancestor."_

_Richard straightened up curiously, shoulder bumping Siobhan's hip, and in unison he and Siobhan asked, "Who?"_

_"…That was creepy. Just for that, I'm not telling."_

Cian was seventeen. He had been for about a week, actually. His birthday had been uneventful. Remy gave him an elaborate stiletto, and Isabel bought him a chocolate tort. He had considered it a good day.

It was about a week later that Abel knocked on the stable wall to announce himself, before he offered a quiet, "Cian," as greeting. "You-" He fell silent, expression growing frustrated.

"_I speak French, Abel. Relax,_" Cian interrupted, throwing the older Assassin a bone.

Abel sagged minutely with relief for a split second, and leaned one shoulder against the wall, arms crossed. "_Ackley is moving._"

Flower's brush slipped from Cian's fingers, and he burst out, "_Where_?" Abel recoiled slightly at the force of the question, but Cian plowed onwards. "_De'sole', de'sole'. __Keep talking._"

"_Spain. Remy is insisting he accompany you._"

Cian blinked slowly. "_I guess that's okay…?_"

Abel shrugged loosely. "_Good. He's already preparing._" He pushed away from the wall and turned to leave, offering, "_You should go do the same thing,_" over his shoulder.

Cian wasted little time after that. Within an hour he was ready, and Remy was knocking on his door.

"Cian?" Remy leaned in. "I am-"

"Comin' with me? Abel told me." Cian snorted and joined Remy in the hall. "Longest conversation I've ever had with him."

Remy huffed out a quiet chuckle as they headed for the stairs. "So, you do not mind?"

Cian had to think for a few seconds, but the conclusion came to him readily enough. "No," he answered, and admitted, "It'll be nice to have company."

Remy grinned at him brightly. "Good."

_"Is Remy gonna die horribly?" Siobhan wondered._

_"You're watching history, Bonnie, not a movie," Malcolm shot back wryly._

_"He does not know," Richard translated._

Cian balanced on the edge of Isabel's window and watched her rummage through her dresser.

"_I found it!_" she sang out triumphantly, as she pulled out a length of intricate, delicate, vibrantly red lace. "It's not much," she said, as she approached the window and draped the ribbon around Cian's neck, "but it's one of my favorites, and I want you to have something to remember me by."

He scoffed playfully and leaned forward to kiss her. "As if I would forget you," he replied fondly, leaning his forehead against her's.

She smiled gently, though it wasn't quite as cheerful as usual. "Just remember to come back, eventually."

"I promise."

"Remember to keep that promise." She kissed him one last time. "Now get out of here."

_"Can we be done soon?" Siobhan fidgeted on the Animus. "Sorry," he added, when Richard grunted as he took a knee to the back of his head._

_"Soon," Malcolm assured him. "Unless you need to stop early?"_

_"No, no, I'm fine," Siobhan assured him quickly. "But this isn't the most comfortable bed, and I'm losing feeling in my lumbar."_

_"Well, if you would sit still, perhaps you would be more comfortable."_

_"I find that unlikely."_

It was a very long way to Spain. Long, and not terribly fast, because they didn't want to exhaust Flower or Louis. But it was pleasant enough. Cian told stories of the farm, of Niall and his antics, and there was only a twinge of pain. Remy spoke of his family, of his mother raising him as best as she could with his father so frequently absent. Neither of them had lived glamorous lives, but they had been content. They had been loved.

They weren't sure how much of a lead Ackley had on them, or how fast he was going, but there wasn't anything they could do about that on the road. They would handle it once they were in Spain.

Abel's trail, however he dug it up, led them to Corana, right near the end of the peninsula. The people were unfamiliar. The places were unfamiliar. The customs, the language, everything was unfamiliar. By luck and intuition, they managed to find an inn. Remy knew a handful of Spanish, the innkeeper knew a hanful of French and English, and through pieced together words and pantomime, they managed to get a room and to board the horses. (And they steadfastly didn't pay attention to the man loudly ranting about the loss of his coin pouch.)

"We'll check the harbor tomorrow. See if we can catch sight of 'im. If not, we'll see if we can scrounge up any local Assassins."

Remy nodded absently in agreement as he stared out the window. "Do you think he will be leaving Spain? Sooner than he left France, that is."

"Probably?" Cian hazarded. "Abel's like a hunting hound. He'd have ferreted it out, if Ackley was here for a while. Don't you think?"

"Hopefully."

That night passed quietly, and the next morning found them exploring the port. And then it wasn't quiet anymore.

"CIAN!"

Remy pelted towards him, caught him by the back of his hood, and hauled him away. Cian fell into a sprint beside him, with a baffled, "What's wrong?"

Remy led him to one of the docks, only recently vacated as a ship sailed out to sea, still within shouting distance. Quickly, Remy cast around, and snatched a spyglass from someone's temporarily abandoned luggage and shoved it at Cian's chest.

Dread rising in his gut, Cian peered through the spyglass. It took a few moments of searching, but he found him; he found Ackley leaning on the railing of the ship, chatting with a young woman. The spyglass went slack in Cian's grip. Before he could drop it, Remy pulled it from his loose hold and returned it to where he had found it.

Mechanically, Cian set off in search of a harbormaster, Remy slinking at his heels. The harbormaster spoke English, thankfully. The ship was bound for New York. If Cian wanted to follow, he had to wait a month. It wouldn't be cheap. Cian thanked him politely, turned, and began making his way back to the inn.

They walked in stiff, uncomfortable silence, Remy casting Cian uneasy glances now and then.

"_What_?" Cian finally snapped, as they approached the inn.

"Are you alright?"

Cian paused. Thought about it carefully. And then he pulled out one of his knives and hurled it towards the inn. The blade sank a couple inches into the wood with a solid '_thock!_'

"Not really, no," he answered, before he stalked inside. He slammed the door in his wake, his knife toppling to the ground as he did.

_"Temper, temper."_

_"Family trait," Richard suggested, leaning forward just long enough to avoid another knee to the head._

Cian woke the next morning to find his knife on the table and Remy staring intently out the window.

"Good morning."

"Good mornin'. What're you doin'?"

Remy pointed out the window. "Tracking," he replied, as Cian joined him. "You will need money, correct?" They watched a demonstrably wealthy man chat emphatically with a painfully disinterested woman outside the inn. "Drunk already. Easy target."

Cian nodded once in agreement, before he latched onto Remy's phrasing. "You said I'll need money, not we."

"I cannot follow you that far, Cian," Remy told him, words disappointed. "I can keep you company until your ship departs, but I still have work I must do on this side."

Cian sighed. So he would be alone again. But he supposed he shouldn't complain. "You can head back sooner rather than later, if you'd rather."

Remy snorted. "And leave you to bumble around here for a month? I do not think so."

Cian cracked a world-weary smile.

_"Just a few hours and I get to see half of Europe and the colonies. Like magic."_

_"Actually, the colonies will most likely be tomorrow," Malcolm corrected._

_"Just a few days, then," Siobhan amended._

It was a quiet month. They explored. They snatched enough money for Cian to buy passage on the next colony-bound ship, but other than that they took only what they needed to get by. The innkeeper tended to give them strange looks, but he never said anything, beyond a few stilted requests for Cian to stop playing music late at night.

"Are you gonna go back to map huntin'?" Cian wondered as they sat on the edge of the window, on the eve of Cian's trip. They could see the masts from the inn.

"Most likely," Remy replied. "There were still three pieces left, at last check. Will you come back, when you finish this quest?"

Cian shrugged. "Hopefully. I don't imagine I'll have much time for makin' friends over there. I'm not that good at it."

"You slept with Isabel and you did not shoot me for kissing you. Trust me, you have worse skills."

Cian snorted and rolled his eyes. "Sure, and they probably involve fuckin' people and bein' forcibly kissed."

"Nonsense. You were very talented, compared to other stone statues." Remy weaved out of the way of the punch aimed at his shoulder.

They didn't sleep that night.

The next morning, as they stood at the base of the gangplank, Remy kissed Cian's forehead.

"Be careful. My feelings will be hurt if you get killed just to avoid coming home."

Cian pulled him into a hug, trying his damnedest to ignore the note of finality to it. "We wouldn't want that to happen." He stepped back to arm's length. "I'll be careful. You take care of Flower. If I hear somethin's happened to her, I'll have to come back just to kick your ass."

Remy offered a weak smile. "Do not tempt me."

They stared at each other for another moment, before Cian turned and boarded the ship.

_"Can we be done now?"_

_"Yes, yes, fine. That's all for today."_


	5. Intermission Two

Chapter Rating: PG-13  
Word count: This chapter, 394. In total, 13,756 or so.  
Notes: This part was also already written! I just had to type it up and glance over it real quick. So, no sense in not posting this one, too.  
Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed, and I am not affiliated with Ubisoft. This is written purely for my own entertainment. However, I do own all of the characters in this fic.

"Finally," Siobhan moaned appreciatively as he stood up, and he stretched his arms over his head until his back cracked. "That thing needs a cushion."

"She's not a thing," Malcolm protested, just a hair away from sulking. "Or if she is, yours is a thing, too."

* * *

Siobhan scoffed. "Mine _is_. Her outer shell, at least. Her databanks are a beautiful wonder. It's what's inside that counts."

"Is that how you talked Richard and Lani into be-_ow_!" Malcolm glowered at Richard and rubbed the back of his head with one hand. "Dick."

Richard ignored him, attention shifting to Siobhan as he wondered, "Starving?"

"Obviously. But first I have to piss like you wouldn't believe." He scampered from the room.

Siobhan splashed water over his face, and

_glanced up from the basin, eyes clouded both by anger and alcohol._

_"'m fine," he mumbled, the quiet syllables slurring together into near incoherence. He snatched up his mask, but with nowhere to go, he simply set to pacing._

_"S'that why there's blood everywhere?" the captain wondered pointedly._

_"'m a killer," Cian reminded him blearily._

_"Sometimes," the captain acknowledged, "but I've never seen it drive you to drink before." He picked up the bottle before Cian could. "And you passed 'drinkin'' for 'drownin'' a few glasses ago, Ci-_

-an!"

Richard rattled his shoulders and once again called, "Siobhan!"

Siobhan's gaze focused reluctantly, and he found himself standing outside the bathroom, staring into Richard's face. It was so odd to hear Richard raise his voice, southern accent bleeding through as he lost focus on his careful modulation.

Siobhan glanced around and spotted Lani, peering around Richard's shoulder worriedly.

"You awake?" she wondered cautiously.

Siobhan let out a shuddering sigh and brought his hands up to rub his temples. Not 'are you okay?' They were all passed the point of dumb questions, and the answer would have been 'no.' He wanted food. And a bed. And the 21st century.

"I-yeah," he answered slowly.

"It's only been a day," Lani fretted quietly. "It's never been this fast before."

"I've been under more than either of you," Siobhan pointed out.

"You weren't s'posed to go in the Animus, period," Richard groused. "Need a day off?"

Siobhan shook his head once, the motion jerky. "You know that won't help. Someone just give me food and a pillow. A full bed isn't even necessary right now." He let his head thunk back against the wall. "I'll sleep right here if I have to."

"Drama queen," Richard teased, his voice once again soft and even.

"Come on." Lani tugged at their sleeves. "Let's go hunt down some pizza."


End file.
